


The Waterlogged Firecracker

by onlyliquidsunshine



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, I'm Sorry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5310815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyliquidsunshine/pseuds/onlyliquidsunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So he cries for what he’s lost, for what could’ve been but never was, and for what he will never have. He cries for himself and for Gavin, for Ray and Geoff and everyone else. He cries until his voice is gone and all that is left are tearless chokes and a hollow feeling in his chest."</p>
<p>Turns out there were eight security guards, not seven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waterlogged Firecracker

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Andrea, who doesn’t understand that one person dying is a lot more angsty than having them both die. 
> 
> Corresponding playlist! http://8tracks.com/onlyliquidsunshine/the-waterlogged-firecracker

Michael has no fucking clue what Geoff was thinking when he planned this heist.

The idea was to break into the bank on a Wednesday when it was closed, steal all the money they could carry, and walk out without a hitch. If their abilities to break all the security cameras and motion sensors were successful, then they wouldn’t have to worry about anyone knowing about the break in until the next morning when the bankers would find all the money gone. It was a brilliant, foolproof plan.

Or so Geoff had claimed.

“Geoff,” Ryan’s voice crackles through the group comm. “Geoff, there’s guards down here.”

“What?” Michael can hear Geoff shuffling around, clearly shocked by the information. “Are you sure?”

“Uh, pretty positive Geoffrey.” Gavin whispers from his end. He is with Ryan in the bank, down underground where their target vault is. Geoff is in the getaway car with Jack a couple of blocks away, handling the computers and the security cameras from his end. Ray is where he can always be found, a building away scoping out the area with his sniper. Michael is just outside of the bank, watching over the trip wires he places around the street, waiting to blow up any cop cars that may pass by.

“Fuck okay how many?” Jack asks, and Michael can hear Geoff frantically typing next to Jack.

“Uh,” There’s a pause before Ryan speaks up again. “About two directly in front of the vault and five more patrolling about.”

“Can you take them out?” Michael asks, his body becoming twitchy with anticipation and adrenaline.

“Not without one of the others calling the cops first.” Ryan responds grimly.

“Do they know you’re in there?” Ray questions.

“I don’t think so, no.” Michael can hear Geoff stop typing.

“Then proceed as planned.” The Boss says clearly over the static of the comms. “We’ll be able to outrun the cops before they get here and Michael’s trip wires will give us extra time.”

No one challenges Geoff, and the second he’s done speaking Michael can hear gunshots through his earpiece. There’s shouting and grunting, and if he’s not mistaken he hears Gavin squawk at least twice. It’s all over within two minutes, and soon he can hear Gavin and Ryan meet up presumably in front of the vault only to argue with how they should go about opening it.

“I say we blow it up, we don’t have a lot of time here,” Gavin states.

“Or, or,” Ryan grumbles, “we could crack the code like originally planned.”

“I don’t care how you do it just open it,” Geoff commands, and while Michael can’t see it, he’s sure Geoff is waving his arms around.

“Do you think I could shoot the lock open from here?” Ray wonders out loud, and Gavin scoffs in response.

“We’re underground Ray. There’s no possible way you can.”

“You wanna bet?” Ray mumbles with the unmistakable click of him switching the safety off on his sniper rifle.

“Yeah actually,” Michael can practically hear Gavin grin and puff up his chest. “If you can shoot the lock from where you are, I’ll give you my cut of the heist.”

“Got it!” Everyone sighs in relieve as Ryan opens the vault, shoving Gavin inside. “Bet is off, Gavin put as much money as you can into your bags.”

“Bloody hell,” Gavin whispers in a quiet awe before going to work.

The crew is silent and tense over the next ten minutes as Gavin and Ryan collect as much money as they possibly can. Jack starts the car, Ray moves his finger to the trigger, and Michael sprints away from the blast zone of the trip wires.

“Uh guys?” Ray says after eleven minutes. “I can see the popo closing in.”

“I don’t hear them,” Michael argues, out of breath.

“Yeah, they’re not putting on their sirens.”

“Those fuckers.” Geoff grumbles. “Ryan, Gavin, get out. Now. We’ll meet you there.”

Michael’s face splits into a grin as he moves towards the doors of the bank. The cops may be coming but he has complete faith in his crew that they'll be gone in no time, with enough money to bathe in.

Ryan mumbles something to Gavin and Michael can tell that Ray is beginning to pack his things up. He decided to wait behind a pillar by the bank entrance to scare Gavin as he walked out of the building. Knowing the other man he would probably squeak, drop all the bags of money, and then whine Michaels name as he went to pick everything up. Chuckling to himself, Michael leans against the pillar, pulling his earpiece out to fix the wiring a bit.

When he puts the small piece of metal back inside his ear, he is welcomed with the sound of Ryan and Gavin arguing.

“All I’m _saying_ , Ryan.” Gavin snips, “is that I saw eight security guards, not seven.”

“Are you doubting me Gavin?” Ryan retorts, venom in his voice. “ _Me?_ ”  

“Just get out of the stupid bank and it won't even matter.” Ray sighs, clearly exasperated and anxious. Michael silently agrees with him.

“But if we get caught-”

“Holy shit Gavin,” Michael growls. “Just get out of the fucking bank already.”

“But what if he saw our faces?” Gavin yells, a nervous chirp evident in his voice.

“ _YOU’RE WEARING A MASK._ ” Ray and Ryan manage to shout at the same time. Michael hears Gavin breathe out a small ‘oh’ before some rustling where he assumes he taking his mask off. Shortly thereafter Gavin and Ryan burst through the bank entrance, black duffel bags filled to the brim over their shoulders. Unable to contain his giddiness, Michael steps from behind the pillar and jogs his way over to greet the two.

“Michael my boi!” Gavin beams, dropping his bag in order to run to Michael and efficiently wrap his arms around his shoulders.

“Gavin you idiot, you dropped the bag of money!” Michael scolds, but there's a smile on his voice as he returns the embrace.

“Not to break up this totally hetero moment,” Ray chimes in dryly. “But we need to get a move on. I'm coming down from my building, so I'll see you guys in a sec.”

“Copy that,” Ryan responds, bending over to grab the straps of Gavin's duffel bag. “Let's go.”

Gavin untangles himself from Michael, flashing him one more smile before turning back to help Ryan with the heavy lifting.

“Okay guys only about a minute away-” Jack starts, but is quickly cut off by the cracking sound of a bullet being shot off.

Michael hears it before anything. The unmistakable sound of a bullet being fired off followed by the smell of gunpowder in the air.

Then the world seems to have slowed down, almost to a slow motion pace of you will. He watches the door to the bank fall shut as a security guard stands outside, a smoking gun shaking in his hands. He sees Ryan's eyes widen behind his mask and he hears Ray let out a blood curling scream before he notices that Gavin is falling backwards into his arms again.

By the time he can force his limbs to move, Gavin's body is a foot from the ground. Luckily, he catches him in time, placing one hand behind his head while the other wraps around his torso. He gently lays Gavin on the concrete, his hands covered in blood when he pulls them away.

He's brought back to the present time with what originally slowed everything down. Bullets. Looking up, he sees that Ryan had abandoned the duffel bags in favor of shooting back at the security guard. Three bullets land gracefully in the man's stomach, throat, and finally between his eyes.

“M - Michael…” Gavin chokes out, and Michael rips his gaze away from the scene in front of them to look at his boi.

A trickle of blood has started making its way past Gavin's lips, staining his teeth and lips. He’s pale and shaky and it's only now that Michael notices the pool of blood spreading around his chest.

“Oh god,” he mumbles, his hands hovering above Gavin's body, unsure of what to do. “Oh god oh god oh god,” he chants.

He can hear Ray’s footsteps behind them sprinting across the street, and he hears the stop of crossfire in front of him.

“Ryan, what do we do?” He asks, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. Ryan doesn't respond, just stands there frozen staring at the scene with wide eyes.

“ _RYAN WHAT DO WE DO?!_ ” He screams when he gets no immediate response, which seems to snap Ryan out of it.

“Pressure,” he commands, running forward and ripping his mask off. “We have to put pressure on the wound.”

“Okay, okay,” he mumbles, his hands still awkwardly hovering over Gavin’s torso.

“Shot, Gavin has been shot, Geoff.” He hears Ray shake out behind him. It’s only then that Michael hears Geoff and Jack shouting in his ear, demanding to know what is going on. Reaching up, Michael yanks the earpiece out and throws it to the side, unable to deal with the extra yelling in his ear.

“Sorry Gav, this is gonna hurt.” Ryan warns, and Michael snaps his attention back to the two before him just in time to see Ryan press his hands firmly against Gavin’s chest.

Gavin lets out a shrill cry, twitching under Ryan’s hands. Michael's hands scramble to find Gavin's, intertwining their fingers when he does and squeezing.

“It's alright Gav, you're gonna be okay.” He comforts, combing through Gavin's hair with his fingers. He leaves little blood streaks in his bangs and on his forehead, but Michael chooses to ignore that.

“Geoff and Jack are coming and then will get you patched up. You're gonna be fine, okay?” He rambles, trying to get his hands to stop shaking.

“Speak of the devil,” Ray comments, running past them to pick up the money bags. Michael looks up to see the getaway car swinging around the corner, coming to a screeching halt before them.

“Get in!” Jack shouts through the window. The back doors to the van fling open, revealing Geoff who's frantically gesturing them in.

“Alright Gav, we need to move you.” Ryan says, then looks up at Michael. “Michael, I need you to carry him so I can keep the pressure on the wound.”

“Yeah okay,” he responds shakily. Michael lets go of Gavin's hand, moving one arm under Gavin's shoulders to lift up his torso a bit then places the other one behind his knees, picking the boy up bridal style.

Ryan follows him to the van, keeping his hands on Gavin's chest the whole time. Geoff helps them lift Gavin into the vehicle, his jaw clenched and his movements stiff.

“Go go!” Ray yells as he's the last one to hop in the van. Jack doesn't hesitate, crushing the gas pedal and speeding off before the doors are even completely closed.

Gavin is still twitching, letting out choked cries as tears stream down his face, washing away the red staining his cheeks.

“You stupid idiot,” Michael murmurs, moving to kneel down and laying Gavin's head on his lap. “Who gets fucking shot on a heist with no cops involved?”

“F-fuck off.” Gavin whimpers, trying to give Michael a small smile.

“Ryan.” Geoff forced out, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. “Ryan the police are following us.”

“Then fucking deal with it, Geoff.” Ryan snaps out, not taking his eyes off of Gavin. Under any other circumstances Michael would be shocked to hear Ryan talk to Geoff like, but given their predicament, Michael is ready to snap at Geoff as well.

“Ryan.” Geoff repeats firmly. Ryan growls, but allows Geoff to gently push him aside, taking his place. Michael watches Ryan storm over to the back of the van, grabbing a loaded rocket launcher and swinging open a door.

Calm and stoic as ever, Ryan places the launcher on his shoulder, pulling the trigger and closing the doors again before the rocket can even meet its target. Judging by the explosion outside, they won't have an issue with police following them for a while.

“M-Micha-”

“Shut up, just shut up Gavin.” Michael cuts him off. Tears are beginning to flood his eyes but he forces them back down. “You’re gonna be fine. You’re a fucking idiot, getting shot by a security guard of all things.” He tries to stop his voice from cracking.

“B-bugger off.” Gavin mumbles. He gives Michael a small smile before his body jerks and tries to take in a broken breath.

“No,” Michael prays. “No, please no.”

The tears are falling freely now, but there is nothing he can do as he watches Gavin's once bright green eyes go dull, and the hand that Michael was holding go limp.

Geoff lets out a strangled cry, and Ryan punches the side of the van, but all Michael can do is pull Gavin’s body against his chest, rocking back and forth, silently crying into his chest.

\----------

Michael is ten years old the first time he holds a gun.

It’s Thanksgiving day and his mother has invited all of the family that lives in New Jersey to come to their house to celebrate the holiday. Michael is sitting at the kitchen table with his cousin, both of them waiting for the moments that Michael's mother turns around so that they can steal bites of mashed potatoes that are in the bowl in front of them.

“Boys,” his uncle booms, making his presence known. Both of them jump, dropping their spoons in a futile attempt to hide the evidence. His cousin looks at him with wide fearful eyes, waiting for the scolding they’re about to get. Michael huffs, twisting his lips into a frown, ready to fight their way out of a punishment. When he turns around to face his uncle, however, he is greeted with a warm smile.

“Boys I would like for you to come to the living room so that I may show you something.” Michael looks back at his cousin, but he is already scrambling out of his chair.

“Billy I swear to god if you try to show them that gun of yours,” Michael’s mother threatens, pointing her spatula at her brother. Billy waves away her concerns.

“Mary this is strictly a man's business, don’t you worry. I believe that Lily is in the living room, I will send her in to help you with the preparations.” Michael's mother purses her lips, but does nothing to stop the two as his uncle leads him out of the kitchen.

Staying true to his word, Billy ushers his daughter into the kitchen, talking about how Mary specifically needs her help. When she’s gone, his uncle turns back towards them, his eyes shining with excitement.

“Boys,” he whispered, walking over to them and crouching down to their level. “You know how I am a police officer, correct?”

Michael has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Not only is Uncle Billy wearing his uniform as they speak, but he never neglects to mention it everytime he visits. Despite Michael's clear annoyance, however, his cousin nods vigorously next to him, encouraging their uncle to continue.

“Well when you’re a police officer, they give you special equipment to help you defeat the bad guys.” He pauses for effect, reaching to his belt. “And one of those is a gun.” He pulls the object out, laying it flat in his hands to show the two in front of him. His cousin gasps, immediately grabbing hold of Michael’s elbow.

“Mom and Aunt Mary say you can’t show us that!” His cousin whispers, looking around to see if they’re about to get caught. He was always afraid of getting caught or tattle tales by others.

“Well Jeremiah, this will be our little secret then.” His Uncle winks, then pushes the gun towards them. “Who would like to hold it? Don’t worry, there are no bullets in the compartment.”

Reverently, Michael reaches forward. His eyes wide and his movements slow, not in fear, but rather in awe. His hand wraps around the top of the gun, but he soon learns that he has to use both hands to hold it to his chest because it is heavy. Heavier than it looks.

“First rule of gun safety boys,” his Uncle beams, straightening up. “Don’t ever point a gun at someone you don’t mean to shoot.”

Michael is barely listening, more fascinated in what is in his hands rather than what his Uncle is telling him. The gun may be heavy, but it’s also cold, as if it was hardly touched. He trails a finger across the nozzle, the metal under his skin feeling futuristic.

“Billy, what in gods name are you _doing?_ ” Michael snaps his head up to see his Aunt Cindy, Jeremiah’s mother, come stomping towards them, cradling her newborn child.

“I’m showing them what it means to be a police officer, Cindy.” His Uncle responds, clearly exasperated.

“There are better ways of telling them about your profession than giving two ten year old boys a _gun_.” She snaps, glaring at her brother, then looking at Michael.

“Cindy-”

“Michael, sweetie, give me the gun.” She says, ignoring her brother. His Aunt rips the gun from his hands, shoving it back into Billy’s chest. “Don’t do this shit again,” she hisses.

“Don’t swear in front of the kids,” Billy retaliates, smiling smugly. Cindy rolls her eyes, grabbing Jeremiah’s hand and dragging him out of the living room.

“Well son, that didn’t go as planned.” His Uncle sighs.

“You’re not my dad,” Michael grumbles, crossing his arms. The gun may have been cold, but his hands seem colder now that he’s not holding it. His Uncle laughs in response, reaching to ruffle Michael’s hair. He turns to walk away, but Michael quickly grabs a hold of his wrist.

“Uncle Billy, wait,” he almost shouts. He really needs to learn to control his voice volume. “So when you become a cop, they give you a gun?” His Uncle blinks.   
“Well, yes. When you pass all the tests that you’ll do good things with it, they give you one.”

Michael decides right then and there that he wants to be a cop when he grows up.

-

He’s fifteen years old when he finally tells his Uncle what he’s planning to do with his life.

His Uncle is so proud that Michael thinks that he’s going to start crying after he tells him. Instead, he requests that his Mother allows Michael to go to a shooting range with him one weekend so he can show him the ropes of everything.

It takes a little convincing, and a day Michael spends cleaning the entire house, but eventually she says yes.

“But I swear Billy if he is hurt in any way, we’ll make you the target practice.” She warns, her Jersey accent thick.

That weekend they head over to the range, his Uncle boasting the whole time about all the things Michael will be able to do once he is a member of the force. When they get there, his Uncle does all the paperwork and fancy stuff while Michael looks around the little reception area. Soon his Uncle is clapping his hand on Michael’s shoulder, indicating that they can go in now. Upon entering, Michael is handed a pair of earmuffs that he struggles putting over the frame of his glasses, but he manages it nonetheless. His Uncle already drilled him on all the important rules and such in the car, so when he is handed a simple pistol, Michael knows what to do.

It’s not the same type of gun that his Uncle showed him when he was ten, but it feels good to hold a gun again.

He gets in the stance he was told about, aiming the gun to the centre of the targets chest. His Uncle is behind him, silently judging him. Michael takes a deep breath, steadying his wrists before gently squeezing the trigger.

He misses.

He misses by a long shot, to be honest. The bullet didn’t even hit the target, but rather the negative space around it. Michael blames his horrible eyesight, but his lack of experience could be the issue as well.

They spend the whole day at the range, his Uncle giving him tips and tricks as they go along. By the end of the day his forearms and shoulders are incredibly sore, but he can now hit his target in a consistent rate.

His confidence booming, Michael proceeds the rest of his high school career preparing to become a cop.

-

He’s now nineteen, taking a year off from school to work a get some extra money before going to college. He’s closing the sandwich shop by himself tonight, meaning it’s going to take him extra time to clean the place up before he can go home.

Officially done, Michael locks up the shop, stuffing the key and hands into his jacket pockets before making his way to walk home. It’s too late to call his mom to come pick him up, so he trudges along, hoping that the ten minute walk goes by peacefully.

Looking back on it now, he’s grateful that the mugger grabbed the back off his hood and dragged him into the alleyway. At the moment however, he was forced to wonder exactly what he did to make karma want to fuck him over.

The mugger shoves him against a wall, making sure that his head make solid contact with the bricks. Michael blinks away the tears, tilting his head a certain way to make sure that his glasses don’t fall off.

“Give me your wallet and the key to the sandwich place and you’ll probably be allowed to live.” The mugger growls, one armed pinned against Michael's chest and the other one around his throat.

“Oh, fuck off.” Michael sneers, clearly not thinking this through. The mugger responds by punching him swiftly in the jaw, snapping Michaels neck to the side. Michael spits out blood, trying his best to not cry.

“The. Money. And. Key.” The mugger repeats slowly, reaching into his pocket to pull something out and press it to the bottom of Michael's jaw, where his pulse is.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the mugger is pulling a gun on him. Michael closes his eyes, swallowing down the fear that comes with a gun being buried into his skin.

“Okay man, just- just let me reach into my pocket, okay?” He whimpers. When he gets no response, he assumes it's okay and slowly creeps his hand towards his pocket. His fingers wrap around the cold metal of. The key, but before he can pull it out to hand it over, pure anger strikes his heart.

_Fuck this. Fuck him._ He thinks before kneeing the mugger in the groin. He doubles over, shouting out in pain and Michael takes the moment to grab his wrist and twist it backwards, causing him to drop the gun.

It skitters across the alleyway, and both men freeze, watching before diving back into action. Michael shoves past the man, lunging for the gun the same time the mugger tackles Michael to the ground. Now on his stomach, he stretches his arm towards the weapon, his fingers barely brushing against it before the mugger grabs him by his hair, pulling him away and onto his back.

He’s aware that the mugger is straddling him, throwing punches at his face. One makes contact, and Michael hears the sound of his glasses cracking. Michael throws his arms up, blocking any more punches to his face then thrusting his hips upwards, throwing the mugger off balance. Kicking the other man off of him, Michael army crawls towards the gun again, wrapping his fingers around the cool familiar metal. Scrambling to stand up, he turns around to see the mugger standing as well, his arms being held out in caution.

“Now, don’t do anything stupid.” The mugger warns.

“What, like ruins a poor dudes night?” Michael spits out, aiming the gun.

“You don’t even know how to shoot that thing.” He sneers.

“You wanna bet?” Michael asks, taking the stance that his Uncle taught him all those years ago. There’s a split second of hesitancy from the mugger before he’s lunging forward again, arms outreached for the gun.

Michael’s instincts kick in. He sees the mugger coming towards him at an alarming speed and pulls the trigger. The bullet lodges into the man’s chest when he’s almost on top of Michael, and kills him instantly.

The mugger’s dead body falls on Michael, toppling him over. He hits the concrete ground hard, not completely registering what happened. When he finally does, he shoves the body off of him, scrambling to get away.

He takes one look at himself and the body before doubling over and throwing up everything in his system. When he’s done, he leans against the brick wall, wiping away the sweat that is now building up on his forehead.

He’s just killed a man. Another person. Another _human._ He’s not going to be able to escape this either. Someone is going to find the body, and then they’re going to learn that he did it by finding his fingerprints or some hair DNA or something.

“I can’t stay here,” Michael concludes, twisting his fingers in his hair. “I’m going to have to leave, forever.”

He throws up again.

After dry heaving for about a minute, he’s pulled himself together properly. He searches the body for any sort of identification or wallet, avoiding looking at his victim's face. Not finding any sort of identification, Michael grabs the legs of the body, dragging it over to the nearest dumpster and heaving it over. It takes a couple of tries, Michael isn’t too strong and this body is about the same size as him lugging around all that dead weight.

_‘Heh. Dead weight.’_ He laughs to himself. Eventually he gets the body over the lid of the dumpster, running back to the original spot to grab anything that he forgot or dropped. All that seems left is the gun and the blood staining the concrete.

Michael debates taking the gun with him, he could use it wherever he’s going, but he ultimately decides against it. He tosses the gun in the dumpster with the body, then quickly runs away, to the opposite direction of his house.

He’ll just have to hope that it will rain soon and wash away all the blood.

He runs for about twenty minutes straight before he notices that he’s running in the direction of his cousins house. He stops for breath, moving to the shadowed parts of the building to hid away from the street lights.

This wasn’t thought through well, Michael realizes. He’s covered in blood with hardly any money, no way to drive anywhere, and nowhere to go. He doesn’t know the first thing about running away or being a wanted murderer. From what he’s seen in the movies, he can’t have any connections to anyone, and need to cut off all forms of communication. That means deleting himself from the internet.

“Okay but how? Think stupid!” Michael mumbles to himself, sitting down and pulling his knees up to his chest. He can’t go home to where his computer is, not without his mom seeing him like this. But not going home means not deleting himself from the world, and not getting the few possessions he would need to make it on his own.

“Fuck, fuck.” Michael chants, tears pricking his eyes again. He was never good at thinking through things and coming up with plans, he was always the intimidating muscle. It was Jeremiah’s job to be the smart one.

_‘Wait. Jeremiah.’_

Jeremiah went to college right after high school, and he’s going into computer programming. Jeremiah can probably wipe Michael off of social media and help him get out of town. Besides, he was closer to Jeremiah’s house than his own by now.

Pushing himself to stand up again, Michael walks the next couple of minutes towards his cousin's house. He’s snuck in plenty of times before, using the drain pipe on the side of the house to climb up to Jeremiah’s window.

Granted, that was when they were kids and wanted to have secret meetings without their parents knowing.

When he gets to the front of the house, he uses the gate to get to the backyard then walks to his Aunt’s garden, picking up a single pebble to throw at his cousin's window. Right after throwing the rock to alert Jeremiah that he was there, he started up the pipe, praying that it wouldn’t snap under his weight.

Halfway up the drain, he hears the window above him open, and his cousin popping his head over the windowsill.

“Michael?” He whispers.

“Yep.” He confirms, making climbing up the next couple of feet. Jeremiah scrambles from the window when he’s up high enough, grabbing a hold to one of his elbows to help pull him in.

“What are you doing here?” He demands when Michael topples into the room, landing on his back.

“Nice to see you too,” Michael grunts out, taking the moment to just lay down.

“Seriously Michael, it’s almost midnight and- oh god. What is that smell?” Jeremiah gags, bringing his arm up to cover his nose.

“Jer, I need your help.” Michael groans, moving to stand up again.

“Help with what?” Michael sighs in exasperation, pushing past Jeremiah to flick on the lights. When he does and turns back to face him, Jeremiah’s eyes look like they might pop out of his head and his mouth is hanging open.

“Jesus Christ Michael. Is that- is that _blood?_ ”

“Yes dipshit.” Michael doesn’t have time for this. While slightly unreasonable, he’s terrified that the body has already been found and the police have started looking for him.

“It’s not yours is it? We need to get you to a hospital.” Jeremiah walks towards Michael, arms outreached. In a spurt of panic, Michael knocks Jeremiah’s hands away, then pushes him hard enough to fall over.

“Michael?” Jeremiah whimpers, clearly afraid.

“Shit Jeremiah, I’m so sorry.” Michael stutters out, but doesn’t go to help him up. Instead, he crosses his arms tightly around his chest. “It’s been a long night.”

“Okay,” Jeremiah moves to sit on his bed. “Just tell me everything.”

So Michael does.

The blood on his hoodie is almost dry by the time he finishes.

“So… You want me to delete you from social media and help you leave the state.”

“I don’t want. I need you to.” Michael corrects.

“But surely the police will understand? It was in self defence.”

“I know how to shoot a gun, Jeremiah! I should’ve just disarmed him, shot his foot, but instead I killed a man in cold blood!”

“First rule of gun safety,” Jeremiah groans. “Don’t point a gun at someone you don’t want to shoot!”

“I was scared!” Michael’s voice cracks. Jeremiah has the decency to look away as Michael furiously rubbed at his eyes, just now noticing the blood splattered across his broken glasses.

“I was scared.” Michael repeats, looking down at the floor. “And now I need your help.”

Jeremiah lets out a loud breath, hanging his head. For a moment, Michael thinks that he isn’t going to help him, but then his cousin gets up and walk towards his closet.

“You’ll need new clothes. Toss the ones you’re wearing in the nearest public trashcan. I can give you some money to stay alive for a bit and get on a train out of here.” He turns around holding a new pair of jeans, a shirt, and another hoodie. “I hear Los Santos is nice this time of year.”

“Los Santos?” Michael asks, watching Jeremiah move around his room.

“Yeah, it’s a place where people like you tend to congregate.” Michael ignores the disgust in his cousin's voice.

“I’ll take the next train to Los Santos then.” He starts stipping off his blood stained clothes, putting on the new ones.

“Right. Once you get a physical address again, contact me somehow. I’ll start sending the stuff from your room to you.” Jeremiah grabs his water bottle and an old shirt, wetting it before handing it to Michael. “I can’t let you shower without mom knowing, so try to scrub off as much blood as you can.” Michael gratefully takes the wet shirt, rubbing the dirt and blood off of his visible skin.

“The social media thing may take awhile. I make websites, not destroy singular programs in one. But I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“Thank you, Jeremiah.” Michael says quietly. His cousin nods back.

“Just, stay safe out there, yeah? It’s a terrifying world.”

Michael thinks of the mugger in the streets of his home town. He thinks about how good it felt to hold a gun again and how nice it was to actually hit a live target.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It is.”

\----------

They hold the funeral the next evening.

When they pulled into the garage of the safehouse after the heist, no one spoke. Ray had his arms wrapped around his stomach, tears streaming down his face, unable to look at Gavin. Jack was the opposite, he seemed unable to stop staring at the limp body. Geoff left walked in and went directly to the liquor cabinet, not bothering to grab a glass, favoring to just drink out of the bottle. Ryan had slipped on his mask again, and Michael-

Michael carried Gavin into the safe house, covered in the boy's blood and tears. Michael carried him to his bedroom, gently placing him on the bed. He began to undress Gavin of his soiled clothes, taking a moment to grab a wet rag and softly massage the blood off of his skin. He worked quietly and efficiently, making sure the wound had stopped bleeding before putting on a dark blue button up accompanied by a new pair of jeans.

He walked over to the dresser next, picking up Gavin’s hair products, his gold sunglasses and his gold watch. He delicately placed the watch and glasses on Gavin, then styled his hair the way he knew he liked it. He debated keeping the glasses himself, but then he remembered the dull look that was Gavin’s eyes now, and decided that he rather let the glasses burn then have the chance of ever seeing that again. When Michael was finished, it looked like Gavin had just fallen asleep fully dressed.

Michael marched out of the room and into the kitchen where everyone was sitting looking as if they had just seen a ghost. In retrospect, he guessed they had.

“Funeral is tomorrow evening, at the pier, like planned.” He announces, crossing his arms. Once he was sure that everyone heard, he walked out and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Michael stripped of his stained clothes, turning on the shower water to practically steaming, and hopped in, scratching off all the dirt, blood, and tears.

He forces himself not to cry.

-

The next evening, as the sun sets over the city of Los Santos, the Fake AH Crew holds a funeral.

They arrive in the pier, all dressed in black. No one speaks to each other as they take out two boats, piling into one with the body, a bow and arrow, some rope, gasoline, and a match. The other boat is tied to the first and trails behind them.

Geoff steers the boat out to the sea far enough that they can still see the city lights, but they themselves are hidden from the eyes of the people lingering at the beach. Once they are far out enough, Geoff turns off the boat, and Ray jumps into the other one, drenching it in gasoline. Michael follows Ray in when he’s done, carefully laying Gavin down in the boat. He takes one last look at his boi before turning around and leaping to the other boat, moving to stand next to Ray and Jack.

“Um, should we say a few words?” Ray suggests, his voice barely a whisper.

“Gavin,” Ryan starts, and they all turn their heads to look at him. “I’ll miss all your stupid questions. But you’re theory on the coin toss is still fucking wrong.”

“I never told you this,” Jack continues next. “But if I were unable to, I would have wanted you to fly the plane.”

“Team Lads won't be the same without you,” Ray murmurs. “You really were the leader of it. Thanks for bringing us three together.”

Michael can feel that it is his turn next. He takes longer than the other three before he can speak, clenching his fists.

“You’re my boi, Gav. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you in the end.”

They silently wait for Geoff to say his parting words. None of them look at him, not wanting to pressure him to say anything before he’s ready. About a minute later, Geoff takes a deep breath, screwing his eyes shut.

“Goodbye, my son.”

With that, he pushes the boat that Gavin is in away from them. They all watch for about fifteen minutes as the boat floats away. Once it’s far enough, Ray picks up a bow and arrow, dipping the rope in the left over gasoline before tying it around the arrow. Ryan pulls out the lighter and lets the rope catch flame. When Ray is satisfied with it, he notches the arrow, takes aim, and fires.

The arrow lodges itself on the side of the boat, and the entirety of it bursts in flames. They all stand there, silently watching even after the boat is in ashes and the fires have gone out. By the time they leave, the sun is gone and the moon is high.

It’s a quiet drive back to the penthouse, save the occasional sniff and cough from somebody. When they arrive back and walk in, Ray reaches for Michael’s arm. Michael, however, pushes past him and walks into his room. He fumbles his black dress clothes off, and puts on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a zip up jacket, and finally his favorite brown leather jacket. He grabs the keys to the car he knows is loaded with weapons, purposefully leaving his phone on the bed before walking out.

“Where are you going?” Ray asks as Michael walks past him again and towards the penthouse door.

“Out.” He responds, slamming the door shut behind him.

\----------

Michael had lived in Los Santos for almost three years before he meets Geoff Ramsey.

“I need some muscle on my next job,” he tells him over the phone. How Ramsey managed to get Michael’s phone number, he has no idea.

“And people tell me that you’re the person for that.”

“You could say that.” Michael grunts.

“Great. Be in front of your apartment complex at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. We’ll get you then.”

“Wait, how do you know where-” Michael starts to ask, but Ramsey had already hung up.

Michael had been getting by in the city through underground ring fights. He lost constantly the first few months he was here, but then he started practicing and working out more, and suddenly he was the one everyone worried about. The new kid who could kick any, and everyone's ass.

Michael will send his cousin money when his pay is good, as a thanks for everything he did and to pay him back for what he loaned him. Jeremiah will still send packages of his old stuff, assuring him that his family hasn’t caught on to what really happened.

He hasn’t picked up a gun since he’s left New Jersey.

Geoff Ramsey is a big name, though. He’s also paying Michael a lot, so he doesn’t mind if he has to have a gun for this job. In all honesty, he kind of misses the familiar object.

The next morning he’s standing outside his apartment complex, his face guarded, hiding the fact that he’s slightly anxious and perking up everytime a car drives by.

Finally a sleek black car stops in front of him, and he barely has the time to close his mouth before the backseat door is opening and a voice is telling him to get in.

A voice that is very not American.

Michael does as he’s told, sliding in the car and closing the door right as they start to drive away.

“Nice to finally meet you,” the man in the passenger seat says, twisting around to see him. “Geoff Ramsey.” Ramsey holds out a hand in greeting, and Michael takes it.

“Michael Jones.” He says, and after a moment decides to comment on the man's appearance. “Nice moustache.”

“Right?” Geoff puffs his chest, twirling the end of his handlebar moustache in his fingers. “Jack thinks it’s stupid, but I think it’s going to be my legacy.”

“It is stupid,” the driver, Jack, says. He meets Michael’s eyes in the mirror, giving him a quick nod before focusing on the road again.

“I’m Gavin!” The person next to him says, thrusting his hand out. Michael turns to look at him, and he’s not entirely sure what he expected, but it wasn’t what was actually next to him.

Gavin was lanky, all torso and limbs. He had a big grin on his face with a pair of obnoxiously gold sunglasses resting on his nose. His hair is a light brown, sticking in every direction.

“You’re British,” Michael blinks.

“Well aren’t you brilliant! We’ve got an observant one here Geoffrey!” Gavin teases, his hand still held out to Michael. Michael scoffs, smacking Gavin’s hand out of the way. Gavin looks offended for a split second before grinning again, leaning towards Michael.

“Michael, have you ever shot a gun before?”

“Holy shit dude, I live in Los Santos.” He point out. He’s known this guy for a total of two minutes and he’s already irritating him. That’s a new record.

“Michael won't need a gun in this,” Geoff reminds everyone. “His job is to stand there, quietly, and punch the guy if I nod at him. Oh yeah,” Geoff turns around, looking at Michael. “We talking, well, negotiating today. If I nod at you, punch the guy.”

“Got it.” Michael says, rolling his shoulders.

“Oh!” Gavin chirps, looking at Michael’s arms. “Look at those!” He reaches out, grabbing Michael’s bicep with his fingers and squeezing a couple of times.

“The fuck you doing?” Michael demands, swatting Gavin’s hands away.

“They’re just so big, Micoo!” Michael squints.

“My name is Michael.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“No, you said- you know what? Nevermind.” Best not to pick a fight with one of Ramsey’s boys, he concludes last minute.

“Sorry, ignore him.” Jack speaks up. “He annoys everyone.”

“Hey!” Gavin protests, and Geoff shrugs.

“Sorry buddy. Jack has a point.”

It’s only a ten minute drive from where they’re at, but within those ten minutes Gavin has managed to ask Michael three different ‘would you rather questions’ that were so ridiculous, Michael had no choice but to answer them.

“Of course I would rather drink an entire bottle of barbeque sauce then lick your foot, are you serious?” He spits out, more confused and in awe then straight up angry. Jack pulls up to the warehouse the meeting is in, and everyone unbuckled their seatbelts, getting out of the car.

“That’s a lot of barbeque sauce, boi. Compared to a single lick to my foot? I’d rather take the foot.”

“Well no one asked you what you wanted, you asked me!” Michael argues. He misses Jack rolling his eyes and Geoff giving them a fond smile. Gavin shrugs.

“Either way, both options make me gag. Can you imagine licking a foot-” the idea alone seem to double Gavin over, making strange gagging noises.

“Don’t throw up now,” Jack says, patting Gavin on the back. Geoff turns away from them, facing Michael.

“You ready?” He asks him.

“Yep.” Michael nods and Geoff gets a strange twinkle in his eyes.

“Game face on then, boys!”

Michael walks into the warehouse to the left of Geoff, with Jack on the right. Gavin insists on walking on Michael left, swinging his arms around as if they weren’t just about to make negotiations with supposedly a dangerous person.

The warehouse is completely empty, save for a single table in the middle of the room. Two men are by the table, one sitting who has broad shoulders, black hair, a bit of stubble across his chin. The man next to him is standing, his arms crossed, glaring at the four walking in. He has an impressive red beard, a little wilder than Jack’s orange one, and he has a silver hooped looped through his septem.

Michael gulps. The bodyguard of the man sitting down is a lot bigger than him, and could probably take him in a fight it got to that. He looks at Geoff out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge the other man's emotions. He expects him to looked shocked or worried, but if anything he looks annoyed.

“Joel,” Geoff states, pulling out the second chair and sitting across the man named Joel.

“Geoff.” Joel responds, then gives them all a look over, pausing at Michael. “This one is new.”

“This one,” Geoff nods in his direction, “is the one that will punch you if you don’t give me what I want.”

Joel hums, curious or unamused, Michael can’t tell. He flexes his muscles, to alert Joel that he means business, and he purposefully ignores the eye roll that the other bodyguard gives him.  
“Well I don’t know why we need to meet Geoff, I already said no.”

“Dammit Joel!” Geoff slams his hands on the table. “Just let us rob the bank this _one_ time then we’ll leave it alone.”

“Bullshit.” The man next to Joel says. “You would rob it once a week if you could.”

“Adam has a point. Beside, I’m not letting you rob my bank.”

Wait. _His_ bank?

“You own the bank?” Michael is unable to stop himself from asking. “That big fancy white building that calls itself a bank is yours?”

“Yes,” Joel scrunches his eyebrows at Michael as if everyone knew this information.

“We have an agreement with Joel that we don’t tell his clients about the things he does behind the curtains, but in return he allows us access to his bank.” Jack informs him, not breaking his gaze away from Joel.

“Access meaning that you can have accounts without the police knowledge.” Joel explains, rubbing his temples. “I never said you could _rob_ it.”

“Just this once, please buddy? For old times sake.” Geoff pleads. Joel groans, tilting his head back and going slack against the chair.

“No. At least not this year. You don’t have a big enough crew and I need more than a few days notice. Try me again in a couple of months.”

“Fine.” Geoff grinds out. They shake on that agreement and for good measure, Geoff lightly smacks Joel across the cheek.

“Let’s leave, boys.” Geoff commands when he’s done, and they all turn to follow out. Michael pushes Gavin in front of him, making sure that he’s behind everyone else as they leave. They keep up the serious persona until they get in the car, again Michael making sure that he was the last one in.

“You did great, kid!” Geoff compliments once they’re driving away.

“I didn’t do anything,” Michael counters, confused.

“You did a lot more than you think,” Jack says. “With you there, it makes it look like our crew is growing. Joel will cave soon enough.”

“Yeah, and you sure did scare him being all intimidating and stuff!” Gavin exclaims, poking his biceps again. “The broken glasses didn’t help much though.” He adds on as an afterthought.

“Yeah well,” Michael coughs quietly, turning his head to look out the window so no one can see the broken lense. “I can’t afford new glasses, so sorry if that ruined the operation.” He tries not to sound bitter.

There’s an awkward silence in the car as they all process the new information. Michael pulls off his glasses and runs his finger down the crack that the mugger had left all those years ago. Between paying for rent, basic necessities, and his cousin back, Michael didn’t have a lot left to rationalize getting new glasses. At this point, he was used to the crack and the slightly disoriented vision didn’t bother him anymore.

“Surely you have enough to get a new pair,” Gavin inquires.

“All my money got left in New Jersey, I can’t get it because I don’t want people finding me.”

“Oh.” Gavin breathes, then pulls out his phone. “Why didn’t you say so? I’ll text Joel. He can get your money in an account here without anyone noticing.”

“Joel? Isn’t that the guy we just talked with?” Michael shoves his glasses back on his nose, now really confused.

“Yeah! He’s like an Uncle to me. A weird, distant Uncle, who hardly ever talks to you and would gladly break your wrist, but an Uncle!” Gavin is now furiously typing out something on his cell phone. “He’ll get your money here.”

“I- Okay. Thanks?”

“No problem boi!” Gavin is smiling again, and while Michael thinks Gavin is super annoying, he has to hide his blush when he smiles.

“Michael,” Geoff turns around in his seat, getting his attention. “We’re doing stakes tonight. Want to join?”

He opens his mouth to say yes, that he would like to. But then he remembers where he was and exactly who he was dealing with. This was a job, these people were dangerous, not his friends.

“No thanks, I’d rather just go home.” He tells them. Geoff nods in understanding, and next thing he knows, he’s being safely dropped off at his apartment. The following day, he gets a check in the mail from Geoff, greeted with more money than they originally planned on. One week later, he gets a text from Gavin, (how _he_ manages to get his number no one ever tells him), telling him that his bank account is all set up and everything from his old one was transferred over without a hitch. He becomes a lot more patient and closer to Gavin after that.

Geoff keeps calling him back for jobs. They’re always more fun than beating up random people every night, so Michael will accept them without hesitating. Every time after the job is done, Geoff invites him over for dinner, and every time Michael will decline. It isn’t until four jobs later does he accept the offer, and it’s another four and a half months before Michael agrees to join the crew full time.

He decides that it’s the best decision he’s made in a long time.

-

Two years later, the crew is complete and they are celebrating the new year together. Ray and Ryan joined somewhere within the past two years, and somehow they have managed to become the most powerful gang in Los Santos, known as the Fake AH Crew.

“Micoo,” Gavin coos, slinging an arm around Michael’s shoulders. “Micoo, tell Ray that I am, in fact, _not_ drunk.”

Michael himself is too drunk to lie.

“Sorry buddy,” he laughs, “but you’re fucking hammered.” Gavin pouts as Ray laughs, throwing a fist in the air.

“Told ya!” Ray shouts. He walks forward, ruffling Gavin’s hair, ignoring the other man's squawk. “I’m gonna go find Jack. I leave you two _lovebirds_ to it.” He then gives Michael a dramatic wink before bouncing out of the kitchen.

“Wot? Lovebirds? What’s Ray on about boi?” Gavin slurs, turning to face Michael and good lord are their faces close together.

It was around spring of last year that Michael came to the conclusion that he had a crush on Gavin. He never told Gavin, or anyone in the crew for that matter. Though, Ray made fun of him about it, so he had a right to assume that Ray had figured it out.

“Ah you know,” Michael mutters, looking at the floor. “Just Ray joking around.” He takes a long drink from his beer bottle, trying to ignore how close Gavin was and how bright his eyes were.

Michael first fell in love with Gavin through the color gold. The gold of his sunglasses and the gold of his watch as it shined under the Los Santos sun. It was the gold of his skin, and the blocks of gold that would rest in his hands after visiting Joel.

Next was his nose, which he will deny to the grave. It was unique and special, one that only Gavin could ever pull off. Following after that was his hair. How it would look after Gavin woke up, flat on one side and a mess on the other. It was how after some coffee he would spend a ridiculous amount of time spiking each individual strand to a perfect angel. It was how on lazy days spent with video games and junk food, that Gavin would let it lie flat, sweeping across his forehead.

He fell in love with his smile next. After all, who couldn’t love that smile?

Lastly, Michael fell for his eyes. He avoided his eyes the longest, the green-brown color of them reminding him of the trees in New Jersey, resulting in a pang of anxiety to echo through Michael’s chest. Soon though, that eye color became less of the trees of New Jersey, and more of Gavin. They were Gavin when he was sad, angry or happy. They were the color of Gavin’s happiness, of when he would look at Michael with nothing but adoration.

He now believes that when the trees in New Jersey grew, they copied the colors of Gavin’s eyes.

“Whatcha thinking about boi?” Gavin asks, tilting his head in front of Michael’s face.

“Nothing.” He quickly utters, taking yet another drink from his bottle.

Falling for Gavin was a long and painful process, filled with a lot of denial and nights lying awake in bed wondering why out of all the people in the world, he had to fall for the British idiot in his crew.

“Well, I’m cutting you off for the rest of the night.” Gavin proclaims, prying the alcohol from Michael’s hands.

“You can’t do that!” He protests. “You’re more drunk than me! That’s not how it works!”

“Well it works like that tonight.” To emphasize his point, Gavin sets the bottle forcefully down, then, very childishly, sticks his tongue out at Michael.

Michael feels his face flush, whether it’s from the alcohol or the fact that Gavin’s tongue is about four inches away from his face, he’s not entirely sure. Either way, Gavin seems to notice, because he then runs his tongue slowly across his lower lip, looking at Michael’s while he does it.

_‘For the love of Christ-’_

“Michael?” Gavin asks, and oh boy, he does not sound as drunk as he did thirty seconds ago.

“Yeah Gav?”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“Very good Gavin! Looks like you can read time after all!”

“Shut up you mingey little bitch,” Gavin scolds, lightly hitting Michael’s arm. “It’s New Year's Eve, you’re supposed to kiss somebody at midnight.”

“Uh yeah. That tends to be the tradition.”

Gavin is biting his lip again, staring at Michael intensely. He can hear Jack shouting out the countdown, with Geoff next to him yelling out random numbers, trying to mess everybody up. The clock soon strikes midnight, and there are cheers all around them, with Gavin’s lips pressed against his own.

He imagines if Gavin wasn’t drunk, he’d be a lot less sloppy of a kisser. But at this point, he’ll take whatever he can get.

Immediately he twists his fingers in Gavin’s hair, which is something he’s wanted to do for a long time now and oh wow. His hair is really soft despite all the product he forces in it. Michael feels Gavin wrap his arms around his neck, lightly tugging at the curls at the base of his neck. Michael sighed into Gavin’s mouth, allowing for the other man the sneaking his tongue in, licking the back of Michael’s teeth.

He could stay like this the rest of his life and be perfectly content.

Gavin finally pulls away when he hears the others walking around in the living room. He gives Michael one of his dazzling smiles before tilting his head to the side.

“We probably won't remember this in the morning.”

“Probably not,” Michael agrees, breathless.

“Hm. Well,” Gavin leans in again so that his lips are brushing against Michael’s ear as he speaks. “We should do that again sometime.” And with that, Gavin winks at him, walking away and making sure that his fingers trail across Michael’s shoulder and down his arm as he leaves.

The next morning, Michael wakes up thinking about the kiss. Clearly he hasn’t forgotten about it, but it’s obvious that Gavin did by the way he treated him that morning. As if everything was normal.

He can’t stop thinking about the kiss. About how nicely their lips seemed to fit together, or how Gavin’s lips tasted like alcohol and sea salt. How Gavin didn’t seem to mind that the corner of Michael’s glasses were stabbing his cheek.

He doesn’t stop thinking about the kiss. Not even two months later when Geoff gathers them all around to tell them that Joel said they could finally rob the bank, and that they were going to do it this weekend.

\----------

He walks back into the penthouse a week later, his glasses broken along with two of his fingers, and his jacket and hair sprayed with blood.

Jack is the first one to see him. He’s walking out of the kitchen holding a glass of water, looking like he hasn’t slept once since the funeral. When he sees him, he gasps, dropping the glass, not caring about the glass that now littered the floor.

“Michael!” He shouts, running forward, engulfing him in a tight hug. Michael doesn’t move to hug him back, just stares forward past Jack’s shoulder with a blank expression.

“Michael oh god, are you hurt? What happened?” He’s now holding him at an arms length, giving him a look over. “You’re covered in blood, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Michael grunts, shoving past him. “Just leave me alone.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Geoff intervenes. He blocks Michael in his path, seeming to have heard the commotion and coming to investigate. “Where the fuck were you?” Michael wrinkles his nose in response.

“You smell like alcohol.”

“And you smell like you have some explaining to do.” Michael rolls his eyes, pushing past Geoff to walk into the kitchen.

“Just leave me alone,” he demands, opening the fridge and pulling out a water bottle. Looking up he sees Ryan, guarding the only other exit, his arms crossed and his face hard.

“You’re not my mother, Geoff.” Michael grounds out, visibly annoyed. “You don’t need to know where I was.” Geoff stares at him for a second in silence, never taking his eyes off of him.

“Ryan,” he mumbles. “Go get Ray.” Ryan nods, then silently leaves the kitchen.

“Oh what, now we’re going to have a heart to heart? Talk about our feelings and what I did while I was gone? Whoop-dee-do.” Michael grumbles, twisting off the cap to the water bottle.

A minute later, Ray walks in looking like an absolute mess. He’s wearing one of Gavin’s old hoodies with nothing but a pair of boxers. His hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in a couple of days, and his eyes are red and puffy. He shuffles into the room, one arm wrapped around his chest while the other is used to lightly hold on to Ryan’s jacket, as if he was leading him in. Ray doesn’t look up once as they walk in.

“Ray?” Michael asks softly, the pure shock of seeing his friend like this throwing all the anger out of the window. When Ray hears his voice, he snaps his head up, taking a second for his eyes to focus on Michael. When he does, Ray lets go of Ryan and marches towards Michael.

“Ray-” Michael starts again, but is swiftly cut off by a sharp blow to his cheek.

“ _Fuck. You._ ” Ray hisses, his arm still raised from slapping Michael.

“Gavin’s dead.” He continues, his voice shaky. “Gavin dies and you fucking leave, Michael. You leave us, you leave _me._ ”

“Ray, listen-” He tries again.

“No!” Ray shouts, looking like he’s on the verge of tears now. “ _No!_ You _left_ me! You left me to grieve by myself. You left me as the last member of Team Lads. We hadn’t heard from you in days! We thought you were dead!”

Shocked, Michael looks to Geoff and Jack for confirmation. Neither of them look at him, which is prove enough.

“I just needed to leave for a bit. I needed to be by myself.” He explains, trying to not sound distressed.

“Whatever.” Ray spits out. “I don’t care. You’re here now, and you’re not leaving again. Not for a while at least.”

“Yeah, okay.” Michael agrees, still shell-shocked.

The two of them stand there for a second longer before Ray is throwing his arms around him, shaking and crying into his shoulder. Michael places his arms around Ray, gentle rubbing circles between his shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to him, placing his other hand behind Ray’s head.

Michael still doesn’t cry.

When he and Ray finally pull apart, he goes off to shower, rinsing off all the grime that built up over the last week. When he walks out with a fresh pair of clothes on, he finds everyone in the living room, watching some random movie.

Ray is on the couch, curled up next to Jack. He’s looking at the TV, but he doesn’t look like he’s really here. Michael sits next to him, and instantly Ray goes to lean against him.

Over the course of the next few days, Ray hardly leaves his side. He sits next to him at the table and on the couch, and whenever they walk into a different room, Ray holds on to one of his sleeves. Ryan will later tell him that he did that to everyone when he was walking with them.

Ray, with Michael’s permission, has even started sleeping in the same bed as Michael. It’s big enough to fit the two of them, and honestly Michael doesn’t mind. He’s actually grateful for it, it helps keep the nightmares away.

That Thursday, he tells everyone that he’s going to the beach and he promises that he will be back that night. He claims that he needs some alone time and some fresh air. Reluctantly, they all agree, and so Michael grabs the key to his motorcycle and drives out into the sunset towards the Los Santos beach.

-

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here. He watched the sun set behind the horizon, watched the moon begin to rise, and now he’s watching the stars start poking out of the sky.

Almost everyone has left the beach by this point, save for the occasional homeless person who has decided to spend their night here. Michael likes this. It’s quiet and peaceful, and the waves rocking in the sea is a comforting sound.

It’s also the sound of Gavin’s death.

He sits there, staring at everything and nothing at the same time. He can hear every sound, but the night is silent.

At some point, another motorcycle drives up next to him, and the driver hops off, walking to him and sitting about three feet away. They sit in silence for a couple of minutes, Michael never bothering to glance at their way.

“I miss him too, you know.” Ryan says after the five minute mark.

“Don’t we all,” Michael replies dryly. He pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and resting his chin on his forearms.

“After you left, Ray was a total wreck. We all were.” Ryan lets out a short, bitter laugh, stretching his legs out in front of him. “First Gavin, and then you. We believed that surely you two would live to the end. You were always together, always watching each others backs.”

“Where are you going with this?” Michael snaps. He doesn’t need this. Ryan is quiet again for a few seconds, turning to look at Michael.

“He loved you, you know.”

All the anger is suddenly flushed out of Michael’s system, welcomed with complete emptiness. He takes in a shaky breath, and Ryan is right there by him, his hand on Michael’s shoulder.

“I-” Michael stutters, taking in another broken breath. The tears are falling freely now, he can’t seem to stop them no matter how hard he tries. “I loved him too.”

“I know,” Ryan murmurs, pulling Michael into his arms and against his chest. “I know.”

Michael is screaming now. Screaming or crying, he can’t tell. Tears a rushing from his eyes, his hands are twisted in Ryan’s shirts, and he is screaming into his chest.

“It’s not fair!” He yells, pounding Ryan’s chest. “I love him, I _love_ him! Bring him back!”

“Sh, I know.” Ryan comforts, and there is a hand on the back of his head. “He loved you so much, Michael. I’m sure he misses you too.”

So Michael sits there and cries. He cries for what he’s lost, for what could’ve been but never was, and for what he will never have. He cries for himself and for Gavin, for Ray and Geoff and everyone else. He cries until his voice is gone and all that is left are tearless chokes and hiccups. Ryan hold him the hold time, slowly rocking back and forth.

“I love him,” Michael chokes out, completely broken.

“And he loved you.” Ryan tells him, reverently. “And he loved you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Feel free to find me at 'dean-can-dig-elvis.tumblr.com'


End file.
